


Inherit the Earth

by orphan_account



Category: Death Note, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Gen, No real plot to speak of, Tags May Change, characters may be added, it was just an x-over that needed to happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Featuring the Demon Mello, an Angel who hadn't Fallen so much as he Sauntered Vaguely Downwards and Decided to Make the Most of the Occasion. </p><p>...and the Angel Nathaniel, AKA Near, AKA "That white haired prick who owns the toy shop down the road. Yeah, the one that made Sarah's kid cry." </p><p>Together they fight crime, stop Apocalypses, and bitch, bitch, bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dark and Stormy Night, Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just me testing the waters of this crossover. As far as I'm aware, it's the only one of its kind. This is to be expected, as the GO/DN fandom overlap is probably very small. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'm pretty sure it's just going to be a collection of snapshots from the DO universe. I might introduce more characters on the way, but I'm not sure what form they'll take. I'm open to suggestions. Anyhow, enjoy.

It was a dark and stormy night. That was, of course, nothing very unusual for March in London. Then again, tonight seemed particularly dark and stormy, and most of the cities residents had seen it fit to stay indoors. 

The streets, then, were empty. And inches of slippery rain aside, it was an ideal night to go tearing down Oxford Street on a motorbike at 100 k/h.*

The man** riding this motorbike was not pleased in the least. He would have much rather been riding down the streets of Liverpool. Instead, he was in this hell-forsaken city, meeting his greatest rival for their decennial do. 

The bike screeched to a stop in front of an old shop, splashing water on the curb. This was technically a toy shop, but calling it that was generous. Oh, the toys were certainly wonderful, as any passerby could see. However, the hours of the shop were mercurial at best. If one lucky child had the fortune to come across the store when the sign was flipped, they invariably came out of it in short order. They were always empty handed, and occasionally in tears. As such, the Owner had developed a reputation of being “a bit of a dick.”*** 

The Rider dismounted, his snakeskin boots easily avoiding the puddles, despite there being very little area that wasn't puddle. By some miracle, his blond hair and leather coat were also suspiciously dry. He went up to the shop and kicked the door in, accompanied by the obliging roar of thunder and crack of lightening, which sharply illuminated the scar consuming the left side of his face****. 

He’d always had a knack for dramatic timing. It was satisfying in the extreme.

The effects of his theatrics, however, were wasted on the sole occupant of the toy shop, who was in the process of constructing a scale model of the Sistine Chapel out of dice. 

“Welcome home, Mello.”

The Mello rolled his eyes. “Nathaniel. Tell me you at least remembered to bring the wine, this time around.”

*The rider of this bike naturally would have preferred these streets to be crowded with pedestrians, as he found the faces they made as they sprang to the sidewalks especially amusing.

**Well, he wasn’t so much a man as he was man shaped. And even that was questionable. 

***The Rider heartily agreed with this consensus. The Owner didn’t have an opinion on the matter, if he was aware of it at all. It simply wasn’t significant enough to warrant attention.

****Most people would assume that this was a burn scar, and thus caused by fire. This is a false assumption; it’s origins are rather more _divinely aquatic_.


	2. A Dark and Stormy Night, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is much catching up to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If they seem a little ooc, chalk it up to the alcohol and my dreadful lack of experience. 
> 
> Near is really hard to write. Mello is much easier.

Near looked decidedly unimpressed. He had changed his name six thousand years ago; correcting his counterpart now would only be a show of weakness. “Yes, Mello, I remembered the wine. And there’s still some chocolate left over from last time.” More dice were added to the dome. “Though if you cared that much about it, you could always bring the stuff yourself.” 

Mello decided not to deign that with a response. “Shut the fuck up. You like getting trashed just as much as I do.” Ah, bless it. “Get up, the sooner we start, the sooner we can finish.” And then it would be ten more years before he had to see the ugly mug again. Well, that was the theory, at least. It never seemed to work out like that. 

“Hmm, just a minute.” The last die was put in place. 

And then a model airplane collided with the front entrance, and the entire structure came crashing down. 

Near nodded and stood, smiling gleefully. It was an altogether disconcerting image. 

“Right. Now, upstairs.”

Mello followed, stepping over the wreckage of what had once been the Pope’s own chapel, looking highly disturbed. “How have they not fired you by now?”

He was met with a shrug. “I’m a very efficient thwarter.”

_______  
 _Three Days and 30 Bottles of Wine Later_   
_______

“YouTube.”

“That was, aahm, that was our’s. Matt.”

“Comments section?”

“All comments sections. My idea.” Thin lips pulled into a smirk. That had been a particular stroke of genius on his part.

Pale fingers typed the necessary information into Excel. The spreadsheet was quite long, quite detailed, and dated back to about the 14th century. Before the invention of Microsoft Office, it had been preserved using a rather unruly roll of paper(and before paper, it had been the hides of many goats). “How is Matt, by the way? Still campaigning to be the next Pestilence?”

“Yeah. But, with Pollution already there… the Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse just doesn’t have the same ring, you know?”

Near nodded gravely. He did know. 

“I never took him for the ambitious type.”

“Being a Horseman means a permanent station on Earth. Anyways, I think he’s programing some new strain of vaccine related something, so I guess we’ll see there that goes. Don’t fuck that up for him. Smartphones were you guys, right?” Mello asked as he typed into his IPhone.

“No. I assumed you’re side was responsible for those.”

“Nah.” 

“Oil spill.” 

“Sheer human stupidity.”

“Thought so. Losing your touch?”

“Eh, means I get more free time. Spent some of it in Russia.”

“Hm, I’ll just put that down, then. ‘Putin: All Mello’s Fault’. Thinking of getting him elected as president? ”

“I think the effects will be wide reaching enough to guarantee my job security for another few centuries. Your side dabbling in politics at all?”

“It’s an exercise in futility, and a dull one at that. With the exception of nullifying your more lucrative temptations, I try to stay out of politics. Had a hand in breaking the economy, though. That was interesting.” 

Wine was spat onto the table in a rather melodramatic fashion. “Seriously?”

“Results were generally mixed. Though as a whole, I think we’ll see an increase in conversions.”

Mello shook his head. “Right, well. Anything else?”

Near sighed. “No, I think we’ve covered most of it.” The table, the surface of which couldn’t be seen under the empty wine bottles and chocolate wrappers, was a testimony to this. 

Mello shrugged, and closed his own spreadsheet. It was far less meticulously organized than Near’s, but he found that it functioned better this way. “So. Are you getting anything out of these figures?

“The Apocalypse will be held in Argentina, in the year 2319. The Anti-Christ – I think he’ll be going by the name of Kira?– will kill the prophet El, before being smited… smote… smitten by the Metatron. There may be a new Metatron, by then, though. We go through them so fast. YHWH will remain largely uninvolved in the proceedings.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll just make that a ‘No’ then.” For once, Mello couldn’t be bothered to spare the energy necessary to be irritated at the angel. He was rather pleasantly drunk, and didn’t want to ruin the effect. 

Sobering up and making the ride back to Liverpool would ruin the effect. 

“Mello is welcome to stay the night.”

…

One more night wouldn’t hurt. Besides, Near had an amazing bed that only _he_ ever used, so really, what was the harm?

“I’ll be gone before morning.”

“...Right.”

True to his word, Mello was gone by the next morning. 

Near wasn’t bothered in the least. He’d see the demon again before 2020. After all, he wasn’t completely joking about the Apocalypse. He was just off by about 300 years, and a great many miles. 

It was shaping up to be an interesting decade.


End file.
